Page 13 of Dublin Charmer
Brendan’s gaze finds mine, and he still looks lost.
“You’re good, Brenny. We’ve got you, brother. Just let the doctors do their thing, and we’ll be right here when you get patched up.”
Nora steps closer, careful to stay out of the medical team’s way. “And we love you, big guy. So, be a good patient and come back quickly.”
The doctor straightens and peels off his bloody blue gloves. “We need to get him to surgery. The head injury needs monitoring, but the leg is the priority.”
“Do whatever you need to, doc,” I say, as a team arrives to transfer Brendan to a surgical gurney. “Just take good care of him.”
The Quinn compound looms dark and quiet as I watch the gates close behind me and pull up the winding drive. My headlights sweep across the front of the old stone manse, catching the armed men stationed at strategic points. They nod as I pass - a mix of our security and MC members keeping watch.
As I swing my legs out of the SUV and drop to the pea gravel of the drive, I cast a weary gaze toward the horizon. It’s going on half five in the morning and another day is about to begin.
And who are we kidding? It’ll be a busy and rage-filled day.
The stone castle is quiet and bathed in the blue-gray haze of the pre-dawn hours. The sounds of life stirring in the kitchen are no surprise. Cora cooks when she worries, and she worries when trouble circles our family.
The kitchen light spills out into the hall, and the warm scent of baking bread and cinnamon draws me in. Then, the savory smell of steak and eggs makes my stomach growl.
Aiden sits at the kitchen island, fork halfway to his mouth. Cora bustles around him, pulling another batch of something from the oven while three mixing bowls wait their turn on the counter.
“Morning,” I call softly.
Cora whirls, dusting flour from her hands onto her apron. “Finlay! How’s our boy? What did the doctors say?”
I cross over to her and plant a kiss on her weathered cheek. “He’s all right. Surgery went well. His leg is all patched up. They’re keeping him for twenty-four hours to watch for anyswelling from the head knock, but he’s already complaining about the hospital food.”
“Thank Christ.” She crosses herself, shoulders dropping in relief. “And Nora?”
“Before I left, I made sure she got herself set up in one of those reclining chairs beside Brenny’s bed. She won’t be leaving his side for anything. Kieran’s outside the door with some MC boys, and a dozen more are covering the hospital entrances. He’s well protected.”
Cora nods and bustles to the stove. “Sit. You need feeding.”
“You’re an angel. Thank you.” I slide onto the stool next to Aiden as she sets a loaded plate in front of me and pours fresh coffee.
“How are Tag and Laine?” I ask around a mouthful of perfectly cooked steak.
Aiden swallows his bite. “Got the two of them home around three. His shoulder’s stitched up nice, no major damage. They checked Laine and the wee one, and both were unharmed. Doc gave Tag some good pills and ordered them both to rest the moment they got home. They went straight up to bed.”
I chuckle to myself. That Tag obeyed that order just goes to show how much power Laine holds over him. I have no doubt she said, if he didn’t go to bed with her, she wouldn’t go either. “And everyone else is home and settled?”
“Aye, once everyone finished with the cops, we got them home. Sean handled most of that song and dance. Bryan’s organizing cleanup crews for the ballroom. It’ll take a few days to sort out that mess. Tag wants you to contact the Historical Society and arrange to pay for all repairs and restorations.”
Cora leans in and refills our coffees, then returns to her stress baking. The familiar sounds of whisks against bowls and the oven door opening and closing fill the quiet kitchen as we eat.
And in the eye of the storm, that’s music to my ears.
CHAPTER FIVE
Finn
Irub my tired eyes and squint at the screen of my laptop. “I really need to have my own tech headquarters if this is my future.”
In the basement of the Quinn compound, the war room’s dim lighting helps with the eyestrain, but hours of code-diving on three hours of sleep take their toll. My fingers tap across the keyboard, following another dead end.
The surveillance feeds at Clontarf Castle offered me no love. Everything was wiped from ten minutes before the breach.
The traffic cams suffered the same fate. Whoever Gravely has on his payroll cleaned up any footprints pointing us to him.
